Dépaysement
by ohshitwaddup
Summary: (n.) the feeling of being a foreigner. "Uncountried." Arranged marriages. Can't live with 'em, can't secure stable international peace without 'em. Estelle wishes she wasn't a part of one, but in the end, she'd rather a loveless future than one filled with war.
1. Prologue: Arrangement Arranged

Muu Alexius is walking down the street to a vendor, trying to find a gift for Myron's birthday when a sudden commotion breaks out in front of him. He immediately goes towards it, trying to find the source. He pushes through the gathering crowd of people who are chattering and shoving each other. At the center of the crowd is a collapsed old man, wearing foreign robes. _He must be a servant for the foreign embassy_ , Muu thinks. He makes it to the front and kneels down beside the man. He's sweating and his pale face is red with exertion and heat.

"Sir, what's wrong?" Muu asks, reaching out for the man. The man opens his eyes and takes in a shaky breath.

"Help me please," he says in a deep, thickly accented voice. _Definitely foreign_ , Muu thinks.

"Of course," Muu responds. He takes the man's hand and gently pulls him up to his face. The man slouches against him. Despite being thick with age, his weight is nothing against Muu's strength. The man wipes at his face and tries to cool himself down. "Here," Muu says, parting the crowd, "Let's find you a place to sit down and cool off."

"Thank you," he says as Muu gets him under a canopy at a small coffee shop. He plops down heavily into the chair and leans back.

"I'll get you something to drink," Muu says. The man grabs at him, holding lightly onto the skirt of his tunic.

"Please, no," he says, shaking his head. He reaches into his cloak and takes out a purse filled with coins. Muu takes the coin purse and goes inside, ordering him a cold glass of water and uses his own money to buy himself a tea. He takes the drinks outside and hands the water to the man who takes it and drinks it gratefully before Muu hands back the purse. "Thank you," the old man says again. The two sit there for a bit, Muu wondering if the man knows enough Common to carry a conversation.

"What's your name, sir?" Muu asks him. He assumes that would be a common enough phrase like 'help,' 'please,' 'no,' and 'thank you.' The man looks at him, pauses before saying:

"My name is Jean," the man says with slight hesitation that Muu chalks up to him being very uncomfortable with the Common tongue. "What is your name?"

"My name is Muu," he answers. "Why are you in Reim?"

"Euh," the man pauses, parsing through his words. "Mon travaille?"

 _Travaille?_ Muu thinks. He barely remembers studying some Fièrien when he was younger, but he'd never been particularly good at languages. He tries to remember what _travaille_ means. He remembers his earlier thought towards the man's identity. A servant for a foreign embassy. He seems as if he's well dressed, in his thick cloak, but with the cold weather that's typical of his northern homeland, that could be common even amongst peasants.

"Are you here for work?" Muu asks.

The man nods. "Oui –euh, yes. Work."

The conversation falters. It's hard to converse with someone who doesn't share your language. Muu sits with him as they sip their drinks. The redness is leaving the man's face. The man still has some water left in his glass, when their quiet is interrupted by man, younger than Jean, but older than Muu comes running up to them. He's wearing the thick, embroidered clothes of Fièrie and there's a glisten of sweat to his forehead, but he's in much better shape than Jean. He has brown hair and grey eyes, smile lines and crow's feet, and a manicured beard.

" _Père Deuil!_ " he exclaims as he gets there. Muu recognizes _père_ as father, but he's not sure about _deuil_. Maybe it's an endearment. Jean looks up, surprised. He smiles kindly at the younger man.

" _Ah, mon enfant_ ," he says. Muu remembers how much he liked the sound of Fièrien. " _Pourquoi vous êtes ici? Vous avez un rendez-vous._ "

" _Pourquoi je suis ici ? Pourquoi tu n'es pas avec ton groupe ?_ _"_

" _J'avais trop chaud. Cet homme m'a aidé. Il est très gentil._ _"_

" _Je vois…_ " the younger man says. He turns to Muu and in more fluent Common says, "thank you for taking care of this father. I'll be taking him now."

"It's not a problem," Muu responds. He helps the other man help Jean to his feet. "My name's Muu, by the way."

The man smiles at him. "It is nice to meet you. My name is Jean."

"But his name is Jean?" Muu gestures to the older man. The new Jean nods.

"His name is Jean-Jacques, mine is Jean-Pierre," Jean-Pierre tells him. Muu feels slightly shaken. "We are both Jean."

"Well," Muu says, getting over it. "It's nice to meet you both. Do you need help finding your way to where you need to be?"

Jean-Pierre seems to think about it before he shakes his head. "That is not necessary, but I thank you for your hospitality and for taking care of this father."

"Don't mention it," Muu says again. He thinks it's a little weird that Jean-Pierre keeps saying 'this father' and not 'my father' but he guesses it's a lingual difference. "I wish you two the best. If you ever need any help while you're here, go to the Alexius residence and ask for me. I'd be happy to show you around."

"Ah, you are too kind," Jean-Pierre responds. Jean-Jacques echoes the word _kind_ under his breath. "See you again, Muu." Jean-Pierre lets Jean-Jacques lean on him and the two foreign men disappear into the crowd. Muu hails a servant to take the glasses back inside to be washed and leaves the establishment as well. _That was strange_ , he thinks, but he doesn't dwell on it, continuing his search for Myron's birthday gift.

* * *

Muu is exercising with his crew when he's summoned by his great-uncle to come to the main house. Muu wipes the sweat from his brow and dismisses the servant to their other duties. Myron walks over to him.

"What's this about?" she asks. Muu shrugs.

"I honestly have no idea," he responds. She hums.

"Maybe it's about you being his heir? He's getting pretty old," she says. Muu shakes his head.

"I honestly can't see him ever stepping down," he rubs her hair, making her grimace. "I'll tell you what's going on when I get done with the meeting."

He leaves the training area and walks up the hill to the Alexius main house. It's always seemed empty to him, with only his celibate great-uncle living there. With no children of his own and only one brother who had only one child himself (Muu's father), Muu is the heir to his Ignatius's estate and governmental position. Usually, it's not too taxing of a relationship, however, recently Ignatius _has_ been putting more pressure on Muu to attend official events and take on more responsibilities in planning battles and leading regular soldiers –not just the Fanalis Corps. Both of those things he's fine with. He enjoys being around people and encouraging them to do their very best.

He knocks on the door to Ignatius's study and waits for his grave voice to say _welcome_ before walking in. Ignatius sits at his desk, documents in front of him and a quill in hand. He puts his quill down and sits back in his chair as Muu enters. He gestures for Muu to sit.

"Good afternoon, Uncle," Muu says amicably. Ignatius nods.

"Good morning, Muu," he says. "You may be wondering why I've summoned you."

"I am," he responds. Ignatius continues, not minding the interruption. He's solemn and straight-laced but he's not an unkind man and he accepts his half-breed nephew which is all Muu could ask for.

"As you're aware, the Emperor and the new leader of Fièrie have been negotiating a peace treaty between our countries. I've recently been made aware that a certain aspect of the deal has been keeping peace from being made. We've been asked by the Emperor to attend the talks as a show of strength."

"I understand," Muu says, assuming he's being included in attendance for the purposes of grooming him to be the next Supreme Commander. "When do we need to be there?"

"They're reconvening after lunch, at around three."

"Alright, am I excused to get ready?" Muu asks. He needs to shower and change into a toga instead of what he normally wears to work out. Ignatius nods and dismisses him. Muu leaves and goes to his room in the house. He cleans himself off in the communal bath before returning to get dressed. His great-uncle hadn't given him much time to get ready before they needed to leave, but that's fine. War has made Muu quick.

After he's ready and donned his armor, he meets Ignatius outside in the gardens at the front of the house, ready to walk the short distance to the palace. When they get there and enter the room where the negotiations are taking place, he sees a group of people to his side, made up of Scheherazade, the Emperor, and the prince, Nerva, who looks extremely unhappy. He locks eyes with Scheherazade and bows his head to her. She smiles at him, making his heart do a flip-flop, before she returns her attention to the discussion happening around her. To the front he sees another group of people, wearing the heavy and decorated fabrics of Fièrien fashion. There's two men whose backs are turned to him and a young girl and boy who look to be siblings and near in age. They seem to be arguing about something, the two siblings looking very unhappy with whatever the man with slouched posture is saying. Muu and his uncle take a seat at the table and soon the other Reimans file to sit down. He watches the new group as they stop talking, the discussion obviously not over, before taking their seats. He looks at the faces of the men and feels whiplash –

 _Jean-Pierre and Jean-Jacques?_ He thinks. _Why are they here?_

The two men see him and smile and nod in acknowledgement.

"Monsieur de Bonté," the Emperor intones, seeming frustrated as he addresses Jean-Pierre ( _Is Jean-Pierre the new leader of Fi_ _èrie?_ Muu thinks, knowing that _Monsieur de Bonté_ was the title the new leader had taken to distance himself from the previous warring king, Vercingetorix.) "Have you looked over the new revision to the treaty?"

Jean-Pierre frowns at him, the expression looking foreign and wrong. "Yes, and we hate it."

The Emperor sighs through his nose. Nerva loudly groans. The young man, who now that he's closer, seems to be around the same age as Muu rolls his eyes at the Reiman prince. His sister, makes a face. Scheherazade just nods as if she knew they wouldn't like it. The Emperor asks, "What do you hate?"

"My daughter will _not_ marry your son," Jean-Pierre says seriously. "Your son has done nothing but mock us and ignore both Lucien's and Estelle's gestures of goodness and peace. He has not shown himself to be deserving of either my daughter's person _or_ the magic of my wife."

 _So that's what this is about_ , Muu think. The magic of the Pervenche family had become feared in the Reiman army. Regardless of there only being three wielders (two now, that the wife had seemingly died), it was powerful and scary. No one that Muu knew could understand the way it worked or how it was used. All he knew about it was the nickname the army had given it: _Life-Stealer._ Of course, the Emperor would want that kind of power in his bloodline. It would only strength his lineage's rule.

"I assure you my son is usually far more diplomatic than this," the Emperor shoots Nerva a look. Muu tries to mask any expression on his face that would contrast the words of the Emperor.

"Regardless," Jean-Pierre cuts him off. "I know the reason why you want my daughter is less to unite our nations but to strengthen your own rule," before the Emperor can cut in, Jean-Pierre continues. "We have decided to give a counter-offer. It still includes marriage; however, it will not be in your bloodline."

"What is this counter-offer?" the Emperor asks, narrowing his eyes.

"It makes far more sense, seeing has how you do not fight with your people, for the offensive nature of the Pervenche's power to be wielded by, say, an official in the army. Is it not your goal to better protect your own people?"

 _Shady_ , Muu thinks. Jean-Pierre continues.

"We are aware of your army's hierarchy and that other than the lady Scheherazade, the next most powerful position in your government is the Supreme Commander," he looks over at Muu and Ignatius. Muu frowns, wondering if he means to wed his daughter to his uncle when he realizes, _oh_ , _I'm next_. "Not only does it make sense in utilization, but my Druid and I have both encountered Monsieur Muu during our stay and we were more than impressed with his dignity and worthiness of the platform he will be bestowed."

"You wish to marry your daughter, the princess, to my nephew?" Ignatius cuts him, his tone reserved. Jean-Pierre nods at him with a smile.

"He is our choice of bachelor. Of course, this is something that all must consent to. If it is not him, we will not accept a marriage as part of the treaty."

Muu stares down at the table. It's either marry someone he's never met and probably won't fall in love with or risk another war between Fièrie and Reim. Scheherazade speaks.

"If this is truly the only way to restore peace to the north then I advise that we take the deal."

Her sweet voice softly hammers nails into both Muu's heart and fate. The Emperor still doesn't seem happy with the deal, but it's better than no marriage at all. Despite Muu's parentage, he's still the heir to his uncle and he has the bloodline of Pernadius. He's the next best choice, after Nerva.

"What do you say, Nephew?" Ignatius asks him. With all the attention turned towards him, Muu feels slightly choked before he resolves himself. He stands up.

"I agree to the marriage." He looks at Jean-Pierre and as he does so, his eyes trail across the girl next to him. She looks at him fiercely, with stormy grey eyes. He wonders if she will be his wife.

Jean-Pierre smiles. "Then all is settled. Please write that as a condition of the treaty, Muu Alexius will be betrothed to my youngest daughter, Yvette and—" before he can finish, both Lucien and Estelle (he's not sure which is which) burst into heated words of anger.

" _Jamais je n'autoriserai ça!_ " yells the girl.

" _Yvette est un enfant!_ " yells the boy.

Jean-Pierre and Jean-Jacques share a look between them before Jean-Pierre asks for a short respite which the emperor allows. The group commences to argue more the girl says something that starts with _moi_ and then the boy turns to her, outraged and surprised. She cuts him off before he can say anything and continues to speak, quickly and succinctly. Jean-Pierre and Jean-Jacques do not look pleased before, with a grim look, Jean-Pierre nods to her.

" _Je suis d'accord_ ," he says. She also looks grim but relieved. The group sits down. Jean-Pierre turns to speak, but the girl speaks instead.

"Muu will not be marrying Yvette," she says, looking at the group. She has an almost native accent when she speaks Common. "He will be marrying the first princess and heir to the throne of Fièrie. Estelle Pervenche, daughter of Monsieur de Bonté and the late Madame de Bonté."

"Why has this change been made?" the Emperor asks, looking mad. It's angering to him that Muu will be marrying an _heir_ while he is not even a prince. It confuses Muu as well, he looks at the girl, most likely Estelle herself, with curiosity.

"Yvette is only sixteen," she responds. "I will never allow my sister to sell her life at such a young age to a man who is seven years her senior. I will take her place in the marriage."

"I do not approve of any marriage," the boy, Lucien, says under his breath. He says it in Common so while it's quiet, Muu _knows_ he wanted everyone to hear and understand. Estelle looks down at him.

"It has to be this way, Lucien," in Fièrien, she continues, " _Je sais que tu seras un roi formidable_ _."_

There's silence between the siblings before Muu hears him whisper. " _Je ne veux pas être le roi. C'est toi qui était censé l'être."_

The Emperor looks at Muu, as does the rest of the table, following his lead. "Is this fine with you, Muu?"

Muu swallows and nods again. "I will do what it takes to serve my country."

The Emperor and Jean-Pierre make eye contact, watching as the scribe rewrites that section of the treaty. "In all else, we are equal," Jean-Pierre says. He and the Emperor shake hands.

"It is a deal," the Emperor says.

Muu is going to be married.

After the meeting, in the corner of their quarters, Estelle is embraced by both her brother and her father. Her brother cries openly, but her father holds back his tears.

"I saved our country for you to lead it," Lucien sobs. "I wanted you to lead our country. _We_ wanted you to lead our country."

"I'm sorry," she says, holding her twin close to her. "I'm sorry, Lucien."

"My dear, I wish it didn't have to be this way," her father says, holding her and her brother close. "The Emperor was pushing for a marriage. It has to be this way, for there to be peace."

"I know," she says. "I knew this would probably happen. I would never have let Yvette marry Nerva either. I would have done this either way."

"I wish I was a woman so I could take your place," Lucien says. Estelle laughs.

"It's better this way. You'll be an amazing king. I know you will be. You fought the revolution and took our country back almost on your own, even when no one believed in you. That was all you, Lucien. The people will love you."

"But you're the favorite," he says.

"It's because I don't walk around looking like I want to murder everyone I see," Estelle laughs, but her voice is thick. _Hold it together_ , she directs herself. She closes her eyes for a second longer than it takes to blink, keeping any tears from falling. She needs to stay strong for Lucien. For her father. She doesn't want them to feel guilty. She _chose_ this.

It was either her or her sister, and she _wants_ it to be her, not her sister. Yvette is too young. And she's all the way back at the capital of Fièrie, not even aware that her future had almost been sold as an addendum in a contract. Estelle _chose_ this. Yvette wouldn't have been given a choice. Now her sister is free to live her life as she pleases, not as a trophy of peace. _I don't want to be a trophy_ , Estelle thinks before she stops herself, _it's for the peace of our people._

She and her family stand there, for how long she can't tell, embracing and crying and saying goodbye.

* * *

Guess who's back at it again with another multi-chapter fic. This is more of a prologue than a chapter, tbh.

 _Etymologies:_

Père Deuil: father mourning (there's not a lot known about Gaul druids so I'm playing fast and loose with that shit)

Estelle: Star

Lucien: Light

Yvette: Yew tree

Monsieur de Bonté: 'My lord of goodness' (this is a title taken so that Jean-Pierre doesn't have to refer to himself as a king since that's a buzzword in current Fièrien politics)

Fièrie: taken from the word fière meaning 'proud.'

 _ **Translations:**_

" _Ah, mon enfant._ _Pourquoi vous êtes ici ? Vous avez un rendez-vous._ "

" _Pourquoi je suis ici ? Pourquoi tu n'es pas avec ton groupe ?_ _"_

" _J'avais trop chaud. Cet homme m'a aidé. Il est très gentil._ _"_

" _Je vois…_ "

("Oh, my child. Why are you here? Don't you have a meeting?" "Why am _I_ here? Why aren't you with your group?" "I was too hot. This man helped me. He is very kind." "I see…")

" _Jamais je n'autoriserai_ _ça!"_

" _Yvette est un enfant!_ "

("I will never allow that!" "Yvette is a child!")

" _Je suis d'accord._ "

("I agree.")

" _Je sais que tu seras un roi formidable."_

" _Je ne veux pas être le roi. C'est toi qui était censé l'être."_

("I know that you will be an amazing king." "I don't want to be a king. It was supposed to be you.")

BIG SHOUT out to **Sonata Fuling** for helping me out with making some of the French sound more natural! You are truly the realest!


	2. Reim, Rehm

(See the end of the chapter for notes)

* * *

Slaves bustle around the compound as they go about their jobs, making sure everything is prepared for the princess and her entourage's arrival. Muu sits among it all, his face in his hand. Even after three months to read up on Fièrien culture and history (the little his people have recorded) and to warm up to the idea of being married, he still can't wrap his head around his engagement. That girl from the council room who had seemed so small and unhappy was to be his _wife_ , bear his _children_ , grow _old_ with him. He closes his eyes. There had been no correspondence between the two of them in the months following the finalization of the treaty and marriage. She had not written as he had expected and he had not written out of stubborn denial. He wishes he could fight off his feelings, but he can't, not with her party arriving at any time. He stretches out his legs and stands up before sitting again. He doesn't want to be in the way.

He rubs his brow. Honestly, he knows nothing about this girl or where she's from. Lessons from his childhood over the language of a barbaric land who refused to crumble under military pressure flew over his head due to his disinterest in the subject of diplomacy. He'd been a stupid child. He should have known that with his name, even being a half-breed, he was the only one left to carry on the legacy of the Alexius family. Myron would likely be married off to a Reiman noble herself or be spurned due to her heritage and spend the rest of her life fighting in the Fanalis Corps.

He stands up and drifts off to the library for the section on foreign affairs. There were scrolls upon scrolls written about Kou philosophy and warfare tactics, the founding of the Kingdom of Sindria, business records with Balbadd, and of course the war with Parthevia, but few were on the northern people of the western continent. He takes out the scroll he'd worn down in the past few months with common phrases transcribed into Common from a general-turned explorer who'd grown curious about the people who wore pants and allowed their women to fight alongside their men.

" _It is common amongst the heathens to greet one another with a kiss on the cheek. This is likely stolen from us, however it is a helpful gesture for diplomacy as other than violence, the only thing these people understand is sex."_

Muu, of course, takes the reading with a grain of salt. It's common throughout the world to greet someone with a kiss, though this is normally shared between friends and family, not acquaintances and definitely not with strangers.

" _In regards to the heathens' language: it is slurred as if they are speaking drunk and none of the words are comprehensible unless spoken quite slowly with the utmost diction and clarity. Only then can we be sure. Some common phrases include: ..._ "

Here, the phrases are transcribed in the abjad of Common with the diacritic markings indicating vowels written out to give more clarity:

" _Bnjoogh is said as a greeting during the day to one another. The equivalent that is used at night is Bnswaagh. Another greeting used is saafaa in which the other responds with the same in return. This could possibly be compared to the salutation Hello and its common return, though none can be certain as the heathens are uncooperative in expressing their language to us."_

"Bonjoogh. Bonswaagh," Muu says. "Saafaa. Saafaa."

He recalls the sound of the language spoken heatedly between his fiancée and her father and brother and counsellor. What he's saying does not sound the same. He sighs. He looks back at the scroll, wishing there were more resources in his family's library. If his childhood tutor hadn't been killed for treason, he would try to find him. He leans against the shelves holding the scrolls, feeling uncharacteristically despondent. He knows he should treat her right and be welcoming, but he doesn't _want_ to be. She had taken his future and hers into her hands and bound them together without even considering his feelings.

"Bonjoogh. Bonswaagh. Saafaa," he vaguely wants to cry. He looks back down at the scroll. _Blah blah heathens blah blah ritual sacrifice? More about trees_. _Apparently, trees hold religious significance for them,_ he processes.

" _Religion in Fièrie is based upon the natural world. The Fièriyyeen have no concept of a world extending past the natural borders. Some important concepts that have been noted prevalent are the Dghooyd_ , _the Itgh_ _which is a type of deciduous tree where the dghooyd go to invoke their gods, and the shn which is a tree where they hang the severed heads of war prisoners as sacrifices to the gods._ "

"Edghooyd. Itgh. Shn," Muu tries, ignoring the thing about severed heads and hoping it's another exaggeration from prejudices of the outside world. He assumes that the old man he helped, the one called Father, is a druid. According to the records, they are not only religious counselors, but counselors to the royalty as well, guiding them to make the "right decisions" in regards to nature and the gods.

"Bonjoogh. Bonswaagh. Saafaa. Edghooyd. Itgh. Shn," Muu repeats. "Estel. Fiyeghi." He continues to repeat the words to himself, wishing he knew the word to welcome her to his home, but he doesn't. The general had apparently not heard a similar phrase. Perhaps bonjour is the same, although Muu has the suspicion that it is most similar to the phrase in Common 'good morning' due to its nightly equivalent. He unravels and skims through more of the scroll. "Meghsi. Doo ghian. Bad epghoblim."

"Muu, what are you doing?"

Muu looks up to see his sister standing at the end of the row, her hip cocked and arms crossed. She raises an eyebrow. "Finally deciding to become a scholar, hmm? Or are you nervous about meeting your wife?"

"We're not married yet, Myron," Muu says, carefully rolling up the scroll and placing it back on the shelf with the few others in the section of Fièrie. "I want to make sure she feels welcomed when she gets here."

Myron shrugs. "I just want to know what kind of woman is going to end up being my sister-in-law."

Muu quirks a smile. "I just want to know what kind of woman is going to end up being my wife."

"Come on, I've got everyone ready to meet her. I thought it'd be nice if we could see how she reacts to a whole bunch of Fanalis greeting her."

Muu sighs but allows Myron to pull him along out of the library and through the gardens to the front atrium where his corps members were waiting. It's a good idea, anyway. He wouldn't want to get married to someone who thought of the Fanalis as lesser beings or who was afraid of them. All of his corps are dressed nicely in their official armor or in appropriate toga with their hair brushed and styled, most likely by Yaqut. Towering over the crowd is Lo'lo, who stands off to the side and away from the group. Muu is happy to see him, sure his sister had drawn him out. Being enslaved in gladiatorial combat is difficult and adjusting to life from inside the ring and out into domesticity has its share of challenges. There's a bandage wrapped around his face where the large abrasion runs through his cheek. Yaqut probably thought it would be best if Estelle wasn't exposed to the worst of their injuries. Muu understands it, but he feels for Lo'lo. He doesn't want the man to feel ashamed of himself.

"It's nice to see you out with everyone," Muu addresses him, standing near. Lo'lo shifts his weight away and breathes out from his nose.

"Might've been better if I'd stayed inside of our compound."

Muu feels a twinge strike his heart in sympathy. "Nah," he says jovially, patting Lo'lo on the arm. "You belong out here with us."

Lo'lo snorts but doesn't reply, his mouth twitching with unsaid words. Probably a retort or something equally sardonic. Muu will pry it out of him later. The group talks amongst themselves, some sitting on the steps leading up to the atrium through the entrance hall, others leaning against the columns supporting the roof. Muu stands with his arms crossed, looking out into the distance. He can hear the carriages approaching the bend that will lead up the hill to his home. He breathes out through his nose, his blood pumping through his body with the anticipation of a fight. There should be no fight and he shouldn't be having this response, but he's nervous and doesn't want to confront her.

His corps respond to his body's actions, all of them coming to attention around him. Myron raises an eyebrow at him, pursing her lips. He takes in a large breath of air and forces himself to relax as her carriages drawn by horses come around the bend and begin to ascend the hill. They are made from a wood he doesn't recognize and there are a few different variations of horses he has never seen before. Some are outlandishly large, pulling larger carts filled with what are most likely possessions and provisions, others are small and pulling short carriages which must be where Estelle and her party are riding. The minutes between the appearance of the entourage and their ascent to the family house is almost too long to bear, stretching like hours.

The horses wheeze as they breech the hill and come to stand before Muu and the Fanalis Corps. There is an ensuing bustle as the drivers start to unload the carts and pass the boxes and _saplings (?)_ to the slaves of the Alexius household who move to bring them to the rooms where Estelle and her party will be staying until they are married and her people are integrated into Muu's estate that is in the process of being built by the stable and the Fanalis housing.

"Where is she?" Yaqut asks, looking over the crowd. Muu folds his arms, gazing out as well. The door to one of the carriages from the middle of the group opens and he sees a head of blueish hair pop out before she disappears behind the other carts. He sees her again when she exits the middle of the group with a taller woman with long, braided red hair next to her. The two are embroiled in conversation with gestures. The purple haired woman makes a comment that has both a passerby servant and the princess snorting in laughter. A man with a shaved and tattooed head comes up behind them. He places his hands on the princess' shoulders and then nods in Muu's direction, aiming a smile. The princess turns around and locks eyes with him.

They are a fierce, steely grey. She gulps and gives him a nervous smile. _Where's the fire from the meeting?_ He wonders. The woman with her asks her something and Estelle's attention is turned away from Muu.

"Is that her?" Myron asks, pointing unsubtly towards her. Muu nods, unfolding his arms and resting one the hilt of his gladius.

"She's cute in a," Yaqut tilts his head, "small and pathetic way."

Myron slams her fist into the back of his head, causing him to stumble with a shout. He rubs the back of it.

"I'm just telling it like I see it! She has no muscles and she's short."

"You wouldn't be able to tell if she did through all of that fabric, anyway. She's going to get heatstroke," Myron comments defending her possible strength and insulting her sense of fashion at the same time. It's true that all of the Fièriens are wearing thick fabric, though not in layers. He wonders if it is because of the cold northern weather or modesty that causes them to dress the way they do. He remembers how overheated the druid had been all those months ago when Muu had unknowingly sealed away his fate to this engagement. Curse his kind-heartedness and warm soul.

One of their drivers hurries over to Estelle, speaking rapidly and gesturing to the horses that had travelled with the caravan, but that had not pulled. Estelle cocks her head to the side as she listens to him. She says something with a gentle smile. The driver bows and then goes back to the horses, checking them over. Estelle is then joined by another woman who is helping an older man – _Père Deuil –_ towards the group. Another woman carrying two boxes and a large sack on her back scurries behind them. Estelle looks around at the group, her servants, and then nods, saying something to them, before starting to walk through the entrance hall to the inner atrium. She holds her head high and her back straight. When she stops in front of Muu he realizes that she is small, compared to the Fanalis, but is much taller than Lady Scheherazade.

He clears his throat and smiles. "Bonjoogh."

Her eyes widen and her eyebrows fly up her forehead. She seems taken aback. Sweat breaks out on Muu's forehead. _Had he fucked up the pronunciation that much?_ She gives him a small, sideways smile. " _Bonjour_ ," her vowels are lilting and the final sound is light, barely there. " _Enchanté."_

 _Shit._ He thinks. He remembers how in the scroll they repeat the same thing back to each other often. He clears his throat again. " _Enchantée_."

She smiles wide at him and he looks over her head to see that her companions are also looking at each other with pleased and relieved expressions. Emboldened, he continues: " _Saafaa?_ "

The woman who had been helping Père Deuil snorts before being elbowed by the purple-haired woman next to her. Estelle pays them no heed. " _Ça va. Ça va?_ "

"Saafaa," he responds with relief. He continues on in Common. "Welcome to the Alexius family household. It's great to finally meet you all. I'm Muu Alexius and this is my sister, Myron, as well as my Fanalis Corps."

Estelle looks over the faces of the Fanalis as she nods. Her eyes linger on Lo'lo for a millisecond longer than everyone else. "It is nice for me to meet all of you, as well. I'm Estelle Pervenche, though I'm sure that's obvious. These are my friends," she gestures to the people around her. "Amaury and Geneviève are warriors," the woman who was next to Père Deuil and the bald man nod to him in greeting. "Cerise is my right hand and Elvire is my physician," the redheaded woman and the nervous one smile. "And finally, there is Père Deuil my druid whom you have met before." The druid nods to him deeply. Muu tries to catalogue their names in his head. _Amaury, Geneviève, Cerise, Elvire, Père Deuil._

"It's nice to meet you. You're all probably tired from your journey. If you want, I can have someone show you to your rooms or I could give you a tour of the grounds," Muu offers, trying to be kind. He's overwhelmed by the activity and Estelle. The thought of marrying her. It seems incomprehensible to him at the moment as he stares down at her. She's small and it somehow causes sweat to break out on his brow. Staring at her feels damning, as if by looking at her he's finally accepted his fate. Now that she's in front of him, he can't ignore her or their future. He wants to ignore it. He has to look away, but he can't. He shuffles slightly, wanting to leave.

"Actually, I have a few questions," Estelle says.

"Oh, sure. Go ahead," Muu says, itching to be anywhere else but here.

"Is there any type of place for animals?" She gestures to the horses. "Large animals?"

"Yes, of course," Muu says. "There's a stable on the other side of the grounds where you can keep your horses. Anything else?"

"Can we plant this tree?" she makes room for Elvire to set down her boxes and remove one of the saplings Muu had noticed earlier from her bag. Muu and the rest of the Fanalis are collectively shaken by the fact that the physician had been carrying a sapling potted in a wooden basket filled with soil in a backpack.

"I… guess?" Muu says, unsure. Out of all the things she could have asked, he did not expect to be asked about planting a tree.

"How many trees are we allowed to plant?"

"How many did you _bring_?" he asks in a voice that is probably too loud for the situation. Her eyes widen and her lips purse. She exchanges a glance with Elvire. Elvire says a number that sounds like _diis_.

"Ten," Estelle answers with a sheepish expression. "They are important for our religion and my family's magic."

"What kind of tree are they?" Muu asks, curious. He remembers the words _itgh_ and _shn_ from the scroll. She shrugs.

"I do not know how to say it in Common. In Fièrien it is _hêtre_."

 _Okay, so not itgh_ , he thinks. He nods. "That should be fine. We have a lot of land. I can discuss an exact place with one of the groundskeepers and we can get them planted as soon as possible." While Ignatius wouldn't care about their religion, the trees being necessary for the magic is a good reason to allow the trees to be planted. They made this arrangement so that the powerful Pervenche magic would be assimilated into the Reiman army, after all.

She smiles gratefully. "Thank you, Muu."

"Right, well I'm going to go figure out what to do about the trees since it's probably not good for them to stay in those baskets," he takes his out as soon as he sees it. He needs to go sit down, maybe take a bath, and talk to Ignatius. Probably not in that order because of responsibilities. "Myron and Yaqut, could you give them a tour of the grounds?"

"Of course," Myron says, her upper lip stiff as she tries to seem dignified in front of the Fièriens. Yaqut has no such predilections and shoots Muu a thumbs-up. Estelle frowns slightly, minuscule at Muu's sudden departure, but he feels like he needs to leave quickly or he may throw up. The idea that he's going to be married in less than half a year is making him sick to his stomach. He heads inside and walks across the garden to Ignatius' study. He leans outside the door for a few seconds collecting himself. _Marriage. I don't want to get married_. (The quick flash of childhood fantasies pass through his mind's eye. Being married to Scheherazade, holding her small body to his, desire). The notion of being saddled with someone he doesn't know for the rest of his life… How can he be patient enough to get through communication challenges? How will he deal with her religion and cultural differences? Trees? Who worships trees? His kids most certainly will not.

 _Deep breaths_ , he thinks. _She didn't choose this_. But she kind of did. Volunteering herself and Muu to be married so her sister wouldn't have to get married to Nerva. He feels resentment curling in his stomach. _She did choose this. She could have chosen Nerva instead of me if she had the power to convince her father to put her up for marriage instead of her younger sister_.

He shakes his head and stands up straight, brushing his hands over the fabric of his toga. He knocks on the door of the study and hears his great-uncle beckon him in. He goes inside to discuss _trees_ ( _of all things!)_ and how they should be landscaped.

* * *

"Wow, he left fast. Probably getting cold feet," Geneviève comments as Muu departs. Estelle sighs. She can't blame him. She doesn't want to be in this situation either. Hopefully, they will be able to come to an understanding and possible friendship as the months progress before the wedding in spring. Hopefully, at least they will be friends before she is expected to give birth to his children. Estelle focuses her attention on Myron who steps forward with a tight mouth to guide them. She's young, maybe younger than Yvette, but is trying to be so mature it's endearing. Hopefully, they will be friends. Estelle doesn't want to be here, but she can try to be _hopeful_.

 _Keep strong and hope for the future, my dearest child_ , her mother had said while stroking her hair. _Love is what others make us feel. Treat him well and he will treat you well. A love will develop there._ Estelle folds her hands together in her sleeves and wrings them, out of sight. She hopes her mother is right. Her parents married for love, a luxury that will not be afforded to her. She sends a silent prayer to the mother goddess of the earth that at least her siblings may find happiness and love in their futures.

Myron leads them into the compound to a large inner garden with fountains and many plants. There's nowhere near enough room for any of their trees. She points to many rooms giving them names that Estelle does not recognize. The Fièrie people do not segregate their living quarters to such an extent. Having two sections of house and gardens seems kind of unnecessary to her. Then again, she was born to a peasant family. There hadn't been much time to adjust to luxury before she came here.

"The statue is beautiful," she complements the statue that is standing in the middle of a pool of water. Myron smiles at it.

"That's Pernadius Alexius, me and Muu's ancestor and the founder of the Alexius family," Myron takes them out of the atrium and around the back of the house. There's a larger structure. "This is the compound where the Fanalis Corps lives. Muu wanted them close, but our great-uncle didn't want to have them live in the house with us.

"What is that large round building?" Estelle asks, pointing to a structure that was connected to the main house, but was built like a separate structure.

"Oh! That's a bathhouse. It's a new invention from Kou that all the nobility is having built. It's expensive because of the hot water, but Reim has a large collection of magicians and scientists working on keeping Reim one of the technological centers of the world."

Estelle nods, though she doesn't care. A bathhouse holds no meaning to her. She hopes it's not communal.

"The stables are a little further back," Myron says pointing. Estelle squints and sees a building in the distance where her carriages and horses are being led. "Come on, we can go back in and I'll show you to your rooms."

Obviously tour time was over, meaning it was time for Estelle to try to settle into her new home. She and her group follow Myron back into the house and enter through the entrance hall back into the central atrium. Myron takes them around to a hall of doors. "These are where you'll be staying. Estelle, your room is this first one right here. The rest of you are down here."

Estelle stands outside of the door to _her_ room and watches as Myron points out where everyone else should reside. Cerise, Geneviève, and Elvire are supposed to share the room next to hers while Père Deuil and Amaury are in the one adjacent to that. Estelle takes a deep breath and enters her room. It's large and airy with light-fabric curtains hanging from the open windows. There is an imported rug in the middle of the floor in between a wardrobe for clothes, a trunk, a small bookcase with shelves too short for books, a boudoir, and a bed that looked soft even from a distance. She gazes around the room and sees a small alcove to the side that houses a door. She opens it and sees a large stone room filled with mosaic tiles. There's a large pool in the middle and divots in the floor that run into it from the walls. She steps inside and bends down next to one. _Water_ , she observes the droplets. _They must direct water from the ground into the pool._ She walks over to the side of the pool. There looks to be a bench within it, following the round of the circle. The floor of the bath is also intricately tiled, depicting a trident.

She bends down and touches the surface of the water. It's lukewarm. She wonders who was taking a bath before she'd arrived. The air of the pool room is warm and thick with humidity that she is completely unfamiliar with. Even the summers in Fièrie are nowhere near this. The humidity at home is cold and is accompanied by downpours of rain.

She sighs as she stands. She can't stand here in her normal clothes. They're too hot. The reality of living in this warmth is hitting her full force as she closes the door to the bath behind her and latches it. She leans against the cool stone of the alcove before moving forward. All of her clothing will be overkill during the winters in Reim. They're far too heavy and thick. She unlaces her bodice and throws it onto the trunk. The fabric of her dress hangs loose around her body. She takes off her trousers from underneath it. She pulls up her hair and ties it into a bun. The length will be obnoxious. The breeze from the window cools the back of her neck, but it does nothing to cool her face. She opens the wardrobe. Inside is a mixture of her own clothing that whoever set up her room found appropriate for Reiman weather and the tunics and chitons of Reim. She slips her dress over her head and takes out a chiton. She puts it on and looks down at herself. It is open on the sides. She raises her arms. _There has to be a tie?_

She looks around the wardrobe but finds nothing. The breeze from the window flutters the fabric of her dress up around her and she tries in vain to hold it together with one arm while the other searches. She closes the wardrobe, gathering the fabric of the chiton to try to preserve some sense of modesty, and walks to the trunk. She opens it and inside she finds organized layers of accessories including a belt. She grabs the wide fabric and ties it around her waist. She pulls the fabric of the chiton until she thinks she is safe from exposure.

Air strikes her arms gently and she crosses them, reexamining her room. In one corner she sees crates with items she's sure the Reimans didn't know how to deal with. She moves toward it and unties the top. Her books. Many of them are religious manuscripts and some are fairytales that her mother had painstakingly dictated for a scribe to take down from her. Others are histories, books on politics and diplomacy, and there are even some on Reiman culture for her to study. She had ignored the books when she'd first been gifted them by her brother. She closes the crate and continues to ignore them. There's a stubbornness that settles into her stomach at the thought of becoming like these people. She sits back on her heels. If she's going to be forced to copulate with Muu and produce children for him like some kind of broodmare, then she's going to teach her children the ways of Fièrie. They will know where they come from.

She moves to the boudoir and sees a quill, ink, and parchment. She looks at the paper closer. _Not parchment. Papyrus_ , she realizes. Of course, they wouldn't make paper the same way as her people when they have easy access to papyrus reeds in Reim. Those plants just don't grow in Fièrie. She guesses this is another thing she will have to adapt to. She touches the papyrus and grimaces at the change of texture. The leathery flesh of parchment is much softer than the reedy material. She sits down at her desk and wets the nib of the quill in the inkwell provided to her. She may as well write a letter to her family to say that she had made it safely to Reim.

 _Dear father,_ she begins, watching how the ink seeps into the scroll.

 _I have arrived in Reim. Even though it's autumn, the air is still warm with the summer sun. There are many brush plants in the capital and on the grounds of the Alexius family. I already miss our forests. My fiancé is kind, as you said he would be. I have the vague feeling he wants nothing to do with us, or that he's at least unhappy with the arrangements made for us._ She pauses. _He left us with his sister as fast as he could. She's nice, at least._

 _I pray you are in good health and that mother's treatment is proceeding well. Lucien will make a fine king and Yvette a powerful magician._

 _Love,_

 _E.P._

She looks at the amount of space left on the papyrus and is unsure how to proceed. Taking a few seconds to think about it, she cleans off the nib of her quill and caps the ink. She takes the papyrus up in her hands and messily rips it underneath the end of her letter. She puts the rest of it down and it immediately springs into the shape of a reed. She seals the papyrus with many strands of thread and then puts it down on the side of her desk. She hopes someone will come by with instructions on how to send it home.

She leans back on the stool in front of the boudoir and stares at the window. She stands and walks over to it, pulling open the curtain to look out towards the countryside. In the distance, she sees people working near the stable. She could go for a ride. Boredom seeps into her bones. She sighs and walks to the alcove leading into the bathroom. She could always bathe. _But it took so much work to put on the chiton…_ she sighs again and opens the door and heads into the baths. She looks around, wondering how to turn on the water heaters Myron had been speaking about on the walk. Without luck, she heads back into her room.

Making up her mind, she grabs a book on the history of Reim out of her crate and heads out to the atrium. There are benches around the square pool and the statue of Pernadius Alexius. She will sit here until she sees someone who could help her figure out how to work the baths. She sits down on the stone bench and crosses her legs, before opening up the book.

She gets through the first two sentences before realizing she hadn't retained either of them. She shuts the book and sets it down next to her. There's a silence throughout the house that she's unaccustomed to and turned off by. In her home, there are always at least servants walking through the hall, her siblings, her friends, and her comrades. There's things she needs to do, people to talk to. There's a freedom of what she can take part in. She doesn't know her boundaries here. Footsteps sound in the echoing of the atrium and she perks up, turning to them. It's the Fanalis with the bandage on his face and the surly expression. She can almost feel the pain surrounding his wound and she wishes she could offer to heal it for him without coming off wrong.

He sees her looking, makes a face, and walks slightly faster. Her chance for something to do is slipping through her fingers so she hastily stands and follows him.

"Hey, wait!" she calls. He turns around and regards her with a put-upon sound exiting his nose. She understands that he most likely doesn't want to deal with a foreigner who can barely put two words together in Common without them coming out rounded out with her thick tongue. "Where are you going?"

"Already keeping tabs on me?" he asks. She frowns. What does that mean?

"No, I am only curious. I do not even know who you are."

He raises an eyebrow. "Oh? Then my name might be a better question to ask."

She grimaces at her own rudeness. She had been too hasty. Reim is an empire full of social disasters heading her way at full speed, it seems. "I'm sorry. What's your name?"

The man feels surprised at her sincere guilt and apology. "I'm Lo'lo."

"Estelle," she says, bending her knees in a half-curtsy. "It's nice to meet you. Where are you going?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"To be honest," she starts with a sigh, putting her hands on her hips. "I am so bored I cannot handle it."

He snorts out a laugh. "And you want me to entertain you? Why don't you go and ask your fiancé?" he makes a leery expression. "You could probably get a head start on _knowing_ each other."

Estelle feels the frown on her face intensify. "No, I do not want that. Also, I'm sure he doesn't want to as well. He ran away from me right after we first met. Anyway, if you're busy, I understand."

Lo'lo quirks the edge of his mouth down. "I'm not busy and Muu's a coward if he can't handle the idea of marriage at twenty-three."

"Have you ever been married?"

"People like me don't have the opportunity," Lo'lo responds. "Well, I _didn't_."

"What do you mean, people like you?" Estelle asks, though she has an idea.

"Wow, you really don't know anything about Reim, do you? I was 'abd until a few weeks ago."

"'Abd…" Estelle's brain works to find the Fièrie equivalent. _Slave_. The realization hits her hard. She hadn't forgotten about the slave trade within Reim, but slavery is something she has never experienced firsthand. She had thought that the kindness of Muu would extend to the dissimilation of whatever slaves he may have had.

"Close your mouth," Lo'lo says. "It's nothing surprising. Reimans _love_ Fanalis."

"We do not have slavery the way that you do in Fièrie," Estelle explains. "I am sorry that you had to live through such an institution."

He shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's the hand I was dealt. Nothing more nothing less. I'm free now. Muu made sure of that."

"Muu saved you?"

"All of the Fanalis Corps other than Myron are freed slaves. He wanted to give his people a different shot at life. Being part of his Corps is a safety measure. We won't be at the same risk of being enslaved again."

 _So Muu is a good person_ , she thinks. "Is that how your face was hurt?"

Lo'lo hesitates before responding, seeming to realize that she had no ill-intent at mentioning what must be a new wound. "Yes."

"I can heal it," she says and extends an open palm. "If you'd want me to."

"There's no need for that," Lo'lo starts. Before he can finish his reasoning, a hand is clasped on his shoulder. Muu pokes his head around to look down at Estelle.

"Who would have thought you'd be the one to break Lo'lo out of his shell?" there's a teasing lilt to his voice that Estelle knows is not directed at her, but the phrasing perturbs her. Why wouldn't it have been her? Had anyone else talked to him?

"I will _smash_ his shell to pieces," she responds and makes a smashing moment with her fist as she lands on the second radical of the verb with far more force than necessary. Muu seems taken aback, but Lo'lo guffaws loudly. He shakes his head, still laughing. Estelle doesn't understand why what she said was funny and it embarrasses her. She frowns deeply and can feel her cheeks redden.

"Well, someone's been needing to smash it," Muu responds after fully processing her words. He gives a small smile. She hopes this moment has at least made him less likely to flee from her in the future. Lo'lo shakes his head.

"Now that your fiancé is here to keep you company, I'm heading back to my room," he walks away shaking his head muttering the word "smash" to himself. Estelle straightens her back and juts out her chin.

"I wasn't joking," she says. Muu's smile grows slightly wider.

"I could tell," he says with a chuckle. "It's a good thing." He must have read the confusion on her face, because he clarifies before she can ask: "That you were serious about getting to know him."

She opens her mouth in understanding as she nods. "I do not know why I wouldn't be."

The betrothed stand there together for a few seconds of awkward silence, neither knowing how to proceed with each other. The engagement stands upon them like a draft horse sinking into the mud after rain.

"Actually," Estelle starts as she regains her composure, unable to stand the silence anymore, "I have some questions about things I don't understand."

"Go ahead," Muu says.

"How do I send letters? How do I work the bath?"

"We can get you a carrying bird, but until then you can use mine. And the baths… you can ask one of the slaves to show you."

Estelle makes a face. "I do not want to use them."

Muu pops his lips, taking this in. "Alright, we can do something about that. I can ask and then tell you and I can tell the slaves that you won't need their assistance."

"I would appreciate that," she says. "What are your plans for the evening?"

Muu seems confused by her question and she briefly questions whether or not she said it correctly, when he responds. "Oh, I was probably going to go over some battle formations with my Corps for training and check in on them."

"Oh, I see," Estelle frowns slightly. She feels kind of let down. She wants to know what she can or can't do in this new environment she will have to call home. He looks away from her and rocks back on his heels. "I will leave you to it, then." Muu's lips seem tight as he nods and starts to leave the atrium. She watches him depart and holds in a sigh. It seems as if she won't be able to rely on her fiancé to help her navigate the hellish waters of Reim society and her newfound place in it. She returns to the bench in the sun that is slowly casting more shadow through the open ceiling. She picks up her book and returns to her room. She casts it into the bin and takes out all of the Fièrien books in her possession, then locks it and pushes it under the bed. She stacks the books that have nothing to do with Reim on the side of her bureau and then leaves the room. She knocks on the door of Cerise, Geneviève, and Elvire's shared room. Cerise opens the door, takes one look at her face and draws her in, hugging her before sitting her down on the bed where Geneviève is cuddling Elvire close.

"Tell me what's wrong," Cerise demands, crossing her arms. Estelle wishes she knew what her face looks like. She shrugs.

"I'm just disillusioned with this entire farce," she explains. "I don't want to be here, Muu doesn't want me to be here. No one wants this marriage to happen other than father and the emperor just so he can use our magic to wage more war across the continent." She glowers at the floor. Elvire sits forward and tugs her hair out of the bun and begins to braid it. The fingers in her hair feel good and she leans into the touch. "I'm not happy. I don't think I will be happy."

"That's a little melodramatic," Geneviève comments. "You never know what will happen. Both of you just need to warm up a little more to each other. Talk, get to know one another, et cetera."

Estelle sighs and doesn't want to put in any effort that isn't reciprocated. Her mother's advice of making him happy so he will love her and make her happy in return seems like a burden she just doesn't want to bear.

"Look, how about tomorrow we go out into the town and do some shopping," Cerise suggests. "It can just be a girls' day. We all need to destress from our travel anyway."

"I don't even know how to use the bath," Estelle says and feels heat prick at her eyes. She scrubs them with fury. What kind of stupid creature is she, to be crying over a bath? She handled war, she can handle diplomacy.

"It is very complex," Elvire comments in her typical, shaky voice. "Why don't we all bathe and then see what we can eat and go to bed? We don't even need to wake Père Deuil. I know all of the simple rites like blessing food and sacrificing the correct portion to the mother goddess who provides us with bountiful harvests."

The three other women fold their hands into the ritual position in adherence to the goddess.

Estelle smiles at her friends before they all get up and head to the bath to try to figure it out. If this marriage will be a war she must fight until her dying day, then she will surely fight to win.

* * *

There you all have it, the first chapter of this story. Hopefully, you're coming to understand more what I'm doing here.

Notes:

1.) Am I mocking Tacitus' _Germania_? Yes.

2.) Transliteration: In Arabic, the letter ghayn can be pronounced like the French r depending on dialect, which is why I've transliterated the transcription of French in Arabic to the 'gh' in English. This means that in Arabic the French r ʁ and the Arabic ghayn are allophones of the same phoneme ɣ. There is also no /v/ sound, so it would be written with the letter 'feh.' Also, in Arabic, nationalities are formed through the suffixes 'iyy" or "iyya (fem)." The plural of the masculine suffix is "yyeen" and the feminine suffix is "yyaat"

3.) There are many different salutations in Arabic that are all used in different contexts. When welcoming someone into your home, you say 'ahalan wa sahalan.'

4.) Though this shouldn't have to be said, obviously, I'm taking artistic liberty with both Magi canon and worldbuilding. I'm pulling elements from a lot of different sources for Fièrien culture, not just Gaulish/Celtic. I'm using the French language because I love it and I speak it. Limiting myself to only using elements of Gaul would be pretty boring. So, I'm doing what I want. It's called fiction, not fact. If I wanted to write historical fiction about Gaul and Ancient Rome, I would not be writing Magi fanfiction.

5.) With the addition of magic, technological advancements happen more quickly. For instance, Myers has glasses that are very modern in design, as does Ugo. Beyond that, the style of armor in Sasan seems to be very 15th century and the clothing Barbarossa wears is very modern as well. While it would be more accurate historically for Magi to completely exist in the timeframe of the Arabian nights, it doesn't. Therefore, I'm thinking of the commonality of magic and how that affects the development of different technologies. Trust me, there is a reason for why everything I mention exists due to magic that would not have existed in the historical time period. If you're curious, PM me so that I can extrapolate on what I mean. If you have a problem with it, that's your issue, not mine.


	3. Al-Harb, La Guerre

**Chapter 2: Al-Harb, La Guerre**

Thanks to those who've favorited and followed! Special thanks to **asagi uchiha** and **Sonata Luning** for the reviews and messages on last chapter!

* * *

War is a desperate and bloody thing. It rots the hearts of men and the souls of nations through violence, vitriol, and hatred. War creates monsters out of normal people by corrupting them into harbingers of it without care to the ones they trample. The battlefield between Reim and Fièrie laid on the northernmost border that sticks up into the western mountains that become barriers of snow and ice during the winter but provide strategic vantage points after the snows melt in the spring. The main valley that provides the primary connection between the two is a litter of bodies, blood, and bones. It smells as rotten as it is.

Rotten magic finds its home in warfare. The magic of Iolente is not the green, growing kind of the druids but it's dark enough to mirror the decaying purple of the corpses beneath her feet. Maybe at one point, it was growing too, but she finds it more and more evil as she strips the life of one man to gift her comrades. Her magic holds his soul in her hands before she thrusts it into the chest of someone else, healing their wounds and restoring their health. _It's a rotten magic,_ she thinks as she watches the Reiman soldier fall at her feet, the life literally stolen from his lungs. Her comrade jolts up from the ground and resumes fighting.

 _Life-Stealer_ , come the whispers of both factions. Her magic had come to them in snippets of rumors before the glass castle of her safety shattered under the fist of Vercingetorix and she was forced to become a warrior in his army against Reim. Now, they know her face and her looks, the looks her children all inherited that will get them captured and killed eventually. She strikes out a hand, watches a man fall, and prays to the Holy Mother that her husband had found them safety from everything.

The clouds thunder and roll overhead, threatening to spill rain. Vercingetorix has not sounded for them to return to their barricade. She continues on, plowing through soldiers, stealing life after life after life. Every time she invokes the spell, the _ifrit_ living inside of her sings with joy and reaches forth to devour the life of others or to send it on to heal another person. She's shoved out of the way by a soldier who'd seen an arrow coming for her. She reaches forward and heals him, stealing the life from someone nearby and dying. He is healed and he pats her on the shoulder before moving on with a severe cry. She stands and continues walking slowly, searching out for life that was barely hanging on to amass and then send out again to her allies. Filters of memories that do not belong to her travel through her consciousness as she takes them into her and bundles them inside. _A warm hand; pride; the feel of a gladius_. Sometimes, it can be too much to bear, but then she remembers who she is fighting for. She wishes she could steal Vercingetorix's life from him, but then who would fight off Reim and protect their sovereignty as a people?

It had been over two years since she'd been taken from her family. She closes her eyes and pushes past the false memories, conjuring up the faces of her children and her husband. _Gregoire, Lucien, Estelle, Yvette_. Gregoire's kind smile and crow's feet and hazel eyes; her children's grey eyes that match hers and the same periwinkle hair. She prays again that they stay safe from the mess that is the world. The rains come pouring down, signs of winter approaching fast, and it only takes a few minutes more of battle before the horns and drums of both sides are sounding to bring the soldiers back to safety. She turns and walks quickly through the mud and the rain, stepping over the bodies that had been downed in her path. Her teeth chatter and she shivers, covered in goosebumps. The barricade is in front of her suddenly and she loops behind it, going underground and sitting beneath an alcove with the druids, not at all protected from the downpour.

* * *

Bathing has become one of Estelle's few hobbies in the two weeks that she has spent in the Alexius household. Once she had figured out how to operate the baths, she can almost always be found within the deep pool of warm water. Sometimes, she just swims around. Today, she sits on a side bench and leans back with her eyes closed, allowing the water to lap against her skin as it filters warm in and cold out. She wishes she could go home, but they have nothing like this there. Maybe she can deal with living in Reim for the rest of her life, if she can spend the entire time in a pool of warm water.

One of the doors to the bathhouse opens and she jolts, snapping her head to the side to see Myron, Muu's younger sister, walking in. Myron sees her, gives her a smile, drops her towel, and gets in the water as well.

"I've heard you like it in here," Myron comments, watching Estelle as she tries to find a way out of the bath.

"Um, yes," Estelle says, slinking down into the water. "It's relaxing and I don't have anything else to do."

"I've also seen you and your friends walking around the grounds," Myron comments.

"We're looking for a place to plant our Grove," she says. "The trees we brought with us."

"They're religious stuff, right?" Myron asks, sounding curious. Estelle can't help but feel slightly judged, she knows that the Reimans are godless and have no respect for nature so they have no respect for the religion of Fièrie. But Myron is fourteen and has all the innocent curiosity of someone who wants to know about the world.

"Yes," Estelle says. "We perceive the birch trees to be a symbol of the Mother Goddess and they serve as a connection to Her. Also, it is important for the magic of my family."

"It's powered by birch trees?"

"There is a ritual to bestow the blessing," Estelle says. "Each member of my family is exposed for one day and one night, rested on the roots of the innermost tree, and if the blessing is bestowed, they will bear the mark of it." Estelle turns around and pulls her hair to the side, showing Myron the mark of their magic on the back of her neck. "If they are not meant to have the magic, then they won't receive the mark."

"Wouldn't everyone get it?"

"No, my brother was not accepted," Estelle explains. "He still is a magician, he was just not chosen by the gods to use the family's magic."

"Life-Stealer," Myron says with a nod. "How does it work?"

Estelle shrugs, not wanting to explain. The _ifrit_ inside of her is caged within the back of her neck, but she can feel its greedy hands rubbing against the bars of its prison, waiting to be unleashed. "I take the lives of people and give them to someone else. It heals all of their wounds and afflictions."

"That's crazy," Myron says. "I can't use magic at all."

"But you're strong," Estelle says. "Magic and physical strength are two sides of the same coin. We do things differently, but we're both warriors."

"You're a princess," Myron says.

Estelle shrugs again. "I fought for my people in more ways than one. I'll leave you to bathe." She stands up from the pool and grabs a towel, wrapping it around her body. She looks back at Myron who has dunked her head underneath the water, turning her red hair almost black. "It was nice talking to you."

She leaves and closes the door to the bathhouse behind her, stepping out of its alcove and into her general room. She dries herself off, towels her hair, and puts on a Reiman chiton. In the past two weeks, she's become adept at dressing herself. She has not yet received a response from her father, mother, or brother from her letter. She sighs and wishes that she was anywhere but here. She leaves the room and goes to sit in the garden, basking in the sun. Basking has become another one of her hobbies, along with bathing and walking around in circles. There's not much to do when she's not allowed to leave the grounds and can't talk to Muu's friends because they all stay to themselves inside of their house. She would go over and introduce herself properly, but Muu has taken to using the Fanalis Corps as a way to escape from her and find solitude from their engagement. She begrudges him that, but she also understands.

She basks for a while and watches the shadows on the ground change shape with the movement of the sun. A door slams and she hears rapidly approaching footsteps.

"Estelle!" _Elvire._ Estelle sits up and she returns her friend's smile. Elvire is a generally happy person, despite the anxiety of being alive.

"What's up?" Estelle asks her, informally.

Elvire bounces on her toes excitedly. "We've found the perfect place. I doused it and we're ready to plant the grove!" she pats her cheeks, which are flushed. "Finally, my beautiful, baby saplings can be released from their confines and be allowed to grow."

Estelle is charmed by her friend's joy and stands up, clapping her hands together. "Wonderful job, Elvire. You'll be free from Père Deuil's tutelage before you know it. Have the others already gone to the spot…?"

"No," Elvire says. "I wanted you to come and help us. I may be using them for holy rituals, but you need them for, you know, the future."

Elvire grabs Estelle's arm and pulls her outside of the house and down the hill it's on. She sees a group of potted saplings and her friends loitering around. Père Deuil is seated on the ground. Once they reach the group, they all take a plant and a shovel and begin digging. It's not necessarily back-breaking work, but it's the most physical labor she's done other than walking and swimming in a bath since before the journey to Reim. Sweat from the heat and humidity beads annoyingly on her brow. She plants two of the trees, Elvire's energy has her planting three, and then everyone else plants one. Elvire and Estelle take the final two and gently plant them in the holes Amaury had dug.

Elvire looks at the sky, squinting at the sun. "I'm going to have to figure out how to water them in this climate, but the lays of magic run through this point."

They've planted the ten trees in the ritual position of two interlocked diamonds with two singular trees in the center. The innermost trees.

Père Deuil stands shakily and holds out his cane. He recites the prayer for the blessing of the Mother Goddess and for the spirits of the birch to reside peacefully within them. At the end of the prayer, he picks up a mouse that had been caught by Amaury and slices it, dropping blood on all of the roots of the saplings in a sacrifice to the goddess. Afterwards, he buries the carcass between the two innermost trees and whispers a prayer over it to bless its journey to the afterlife. The sacrifice is solemn, but as soon as the ritual is finished, the group cheers at their success and hard work.

"Ah, where's the alcohol when you need it?" Amaury asks with a groan. Cerise grins at him and punches him in his well-muscled arm.

"Now you're starting to sound like my brother. I'm sure we could find some if we asked around."

"Your brother has good taste," Amaury defends Poirier even without him being there like a true friend. "I can see if they have any cellars."

"Maybe we shouldn't get completely smashed in the middle of the day," Estelle points out. "Tonight, though. That's another story."

"True enough," Amaury concedes. He turns to Elvire and Père Deuil. "Is it against ritual to wait a few hours before the revelries begin?"

Père Deuil shrugs. "Why would the gods care about the timing of our revelries? You can revel whenever and however you want."

Amaury takes a second or two to wink at every member of the group, including Père Deuil, before saying suggestively. " _Anyway_ I want?"

Père Deuil sighs, but it's not without mirth. "Make good decisions, Grosbras."

Amaury seems to flush at the nickname that has become a part of him. He was called Grosbras for his spectacularly muscled and tattooed arms during the resistance and the ensuing year of war with Reim and the name never left him.

"Hey, people _love_ my big arms, alright?" he crosses them, making the muscles bulge. In jest, Geneviève reaches out and squeezes one of them. Amaury jumps away from her and rubs the spot she pinched. "Hey!"

"What's going on over here?" at the sound of Common, the group turns around to stare as a whole at the tall, long-haired Fanalis boy. _Yaqut_ , Estelle remembers. Speaking for the group, as most of them don't know Common well, she says.

"We're planting trees."

"I see that," he says staring at the saplings and the overturned earth. "What's up with the trees?"

"Religion stuff," Estelle says, remembering Myron's words from earlier. Perhaps that's all Yaqut would seek to know. Yaqut pops his lips and nods.

"Alright," he says with a shrug. "I was just curious. We'd been watching from the windows of our house as you were planting them."

"You're welcome for the view," Estelle says, a little snarky. Her people are not an act they can watch for amusement, although when have the Reimans seen humanity as anything other than entertainment? Yaqut flushes, seeming to understand the meaning behind her words.

"Anyway, I came to ask because no one else wanted to."

"Okay," Estelle says. She doesn't have anything to add to the conversation. Yaqut smacks his lips again and nods once before turning around and moving to walk back towards the Fanalis' quarters. Estelle turns to her friends, and in Fièrien tells them about the conversation. They have similar reactions to her and the group turns to return to the Alexius household.

* * *

"They _were_ planting trees," Yaqut tells the Fanalis who'd stuck around to hear his findings. "For _religion_."

"That's what I told you," Myron says with annoyance clear in her tone. She puts down the boulder she was bench pressing and puts her hands on her hips. Muu keeps one ear open as he helps Lo'lo stretch out after working out. There are bruises on his arms and back where Lo'lo had landed sound and heavy hits. "She told me they were trying to find a place to plant them when we were chatting this morning."

That grabs Muu's attention. When had Myron begun speaking with Estelle? It had become an unspoken rule among the Fanalis not to mingle with them. He was surprised that Yaqut had broken the silence and gone to speak with them.

"When did you start talking with her?" he asks, pressing Lo'lo into a deep stretch. Lo'lo grunts underneath him, not a very flexible Fanalis.

"Oh, you know," Myron waves a hand dismissively. "Women have to stick together. Besides, I can't keep ignoring them when I see them around the atrium. They all look so sad and lonely."

It's a double-edged comment that Muu knows is meant to chastise him for ignoring their guests and to make him feel guilty for his apparent lack of empathy. "I have other things to do. I can't always be playing host."

"Maybe you haven't realized it yet, but these people are _here to stay_ ," Myron comments, crossing her arms and shifting her weight. "Even _Yaqut's_ realized it."

"Rude," Yaqut spits under his breath. Myron kicks him in the shin and continues on.

"Estelle's going to be a part of our family in like a few months. It's time we stop pretending they're going to leave. Besides, it's harder for her than it is for you," Myron shrugs. "You get to stay in your country with me and all you've built, but she has to leave everything she's ever known, all of her siblings and her parents, her inheritance, her freedom, and go to a place where she has to speak a second language and be married to a man who doesn't want anything to do with her for the rest of her life."

"Myron," Muu starts, unsure how to continue. He thinks over his sister's words and the look on her face. She looks more childlike than she has in a year, at least. She's relating to Estelle, he realizes, because she knows she will be married off one day.

Myron scoffs. "I don't want to hear your excuses. I'm just tired of you acting like a little _bitch_ about everything."

Lo'lo chuckles breathlessly from underneath him and Muu pushes down harder. With a grunt, he says. "She's right, you know. You could stand to be nicer to the girl."

"She may be small and weak," Yaqut starts. "And also, not that great at carrying a conversation, but she seemed nice enough when I talked to her. Funny, too."

Muu sighs and lets up on Lo'lo. He rubs his temples at the oncoming headache of being thoroughly guilted by his officers. He knows he shouldn't have been ignoring his fiancée, but it had been going quite smoothly, and he'd almost been able to forget her existence entirely (except for the niggling guilt that had been eating away at a small corner of his mind). He'd still been able to fantasize about confessing his feelings for Scheherazade and running away with her and being together forever… He brings himself back to reality.

"I'll invite her to do something with me tonight," Muu says. At the rise of Lo'lo's eyebrows, he frowns. "Not like that. Anyway, there's supposed to be a dinner tonight for the military officials, scientists, and Scheherazade. I'll see if she'd want to go to that and introduce her to the nobility of Reim."

Yaqut looks up at the ceiling. "What do _I_ have to do to be introduced to the nobility of Reim."

"I don't think this is the nobility you want to be introduced to," Myron comments. Yaqut shrugs.

"True, I'd prefer to be the dashing rebel that sweeps a noble young lady off of her feet, but I can settle for a man all the same. As long as I'm rolling in cash at the end of it," he pauses. "Actually, men might be easier to seduce." He sidles up to Muu and flutters his eyelashes. "Tell me I'm pretty."

Muu pushes him away. "You're beautiful, now get back to work."

Yaqut sticks out his tongue at Muu but returns to working out with Myron. Muu stretches his arms out and then decides he might as well try and find Estelle to invite her out. He's sweat-stained, but he doesn't really care. She should realize he's a soldier.

He exits the Fanalis house and makes his way up the hill and past the newly planted saplings. He stops to look down at them and their careful, geometric pattern. He feels a conflicted storm within him, curiosity battling a sense of superiority. How could a people that spend so much time on their landscaping keep the Reim Empire at bay for so long? Be such a nuisance that they end up negotiating a peace treaty that unites their royalty and Reiman nobility together? He continues on to the house and enters the atrium. He finds Estelle sitting on the ground with a few of her people. He can't remember their names.

One of them, the redhead, elbows Estelle and nods in his direction. Estelle turns to see him. There's a furrow in her brow and her nose is slightly scrunched. Her mouth is pinched. _She doesn't look happy_ , he thinks, feeling slightly nervous for the first time since she'd arrived and he'd run away from her.

He clears his throat. "Estelle," he greets. She quirks an eyebrow but doesn't stand up.

"Muu," she returns. He sighs and rubs his palms on the skirt of his tunic.

"Can I speak to you in private?" he asks. Her friends stare at him with judgement in their eyes. Especially the redhead. She looks particularly nasty. Estelle crosses her arms.

"Whatever you have to say to me can be said in front of my friends."

He grits his teeth. _This isn't worth the effort_ , he thinks before stopping himself. _We have to be civil. We're getting married._ "I would really appreciate it."

"Muu, they can barely understand Common," she says and her uninflected voice sounds condescending. He shakes his head.

"I don't care about their level of language proficiency," he starts. "Can we please talk in private?"

Estelle stares at him for a few seconds, her grey eyes storming before she gives a short abrupt nod. "Fine." She stands and holds out her arms as if to say _Go ahead, I'm waiting_. He gestures for her to follow him to his room and they stand outside of the door. She crosses her arms and waits with an expectant look on her face.

"I was wondering if you'd like to accompany me to a dinner tonight," he says. "We haven't seen much of each other –"

"Because you are avoiding me," Estelle interrupts him, her eyebrows raised. Muu swallows.

"No, because we've both been busy –"

"You've been busy, I've been bored. Though, you would have known that if you'd thought to ask."

Muu swallows again. His palms feel slightly clammy. "That's valid. Anyway, I'm not avoiding you know. Would you consider going?"

Her mouth pinches to the side and she tilts her head. "Why would I go with you? What's the purpose?"

"I'd be introducing you to some of the Reiman officials as my fiancée and you'd get to meet our high priestess, Scheherazade."

"I've already met her," Estelle says, referring to the treaty negotiations. "And besides, everyone already knows of our engagement. What's the point of me going?"

"So that they can meet you?"

Estelle rolls her eyes, _rolls her eyes, Muu is astounded_ , and says. "Why would I want them to meet me when my fiancée doesn't even know who I am."

"I can see that you're angry about me avoiding you," Muu starts, "but I've been upset with you, too."

Estelle makes a disbelieving face and Muu speaks quickly. "You took my ability to choose my own future away from me. What if there was someone I was in love with? Did you even give that a thought when your father decided that we should be engaged or go back to war? You got him to choose you instead of Yvette why couldn't you have convinced him to let you marry Nerva instead of dragging me into it?"

Estelle's expression, if possible, grows even more pinched. "Are you joking?"

Muu's face must speak for him because her cheeks blotch red with anger.

" _Your people_ wanted the marriage, not us," she says. " _They_ were forcing marriage on us. We would have been _happy_ to make peace without needing to send a _broodmare_ to you so that you could steal our magic from us. Trust me, being _here_ with _you_ is the _last_ thing I wanted to happen to me."

"You're not a, a _broodmare_ ," Muu says, both shocked she knows that specific of a word regarding horses and horrified that she would think he would use her like that.

She looks at him with scorn twisting her face. "Oh _really_?"

" _Yes_ ," he says.

"So, what, you haven't thought about what you would do with my children at all?"

"Of course, I've thought about us having children. That's the point of this marriage, to unite our families."

She looks at him as if he's the stupidest thing she's ever seen in her life. She holds the expression at him as he thinks over her words.

"Oh," he says, realizing her point.

"I'm here so that you can have children with my magic to be used as tools in your country's expansion and ensuing conflicts with the Kou Empire. I'm a _broodmare_."

"I don't like that word," he kind of mutters.

"It's what I am," she says. "You know it, I know it, all of your precious nobility knows it. Our engagement is a sham. Our wedding is a sham. No one would care if you impregnated me at this very instant, because at least then our _magical_ child would be closer to birth and closer to war."

"It doesn't," he sighs and closes his eyes for a second before opening them again. "It doesn't _have_ to be a sham."

"Then why are you treating me like a victim of a plague?"

"I'm sorry. I'll try to be better," he hopes he can be better. "Come with me to dinner tonight and let's try to get to know each other. I can't make the pretenses of our marriage go away, but. We can try to make it work."

Estelle seems to recognize an olive branch when she sees it. She stares at him for a few seconds before the tenseness seems to disappear from her shoulders, at least a little bit. She probably doesn't want to take his words at face value, but it's not as if she has a choice. "I'll go with you. I need to bathe first though and change into something nice."

"Myron could help you pick something out, since she knows the fashions here," he suggests and scratches his check. "Uh, because you said you don't like slaves."

She seems surprised. "You remembered that?"

"Um, yeah," he says, surprised that she's surprised. "It's the only thing you've really told me about yourself. And I told the slaves not to wait on you or your people."

"I see," she says. "Thank you, Muu."

Awkwardness transcends the two of them. It seems as if they can only ever argue or be embroiled in these pauses that make him sweat and want to flee. How can they ever get married like this? She shuffles her feet, looks up at him, shuffles again, and then excuses herself to bathe.

 _Oh, I need to bathe, too_ , he realizes, all too aware suddenly of the grime on his skin. He should probably wait until she's finished. He walks back to the atrium to see her friends still sitting around and chatting. He clears his throat and they look up at him.

"Hey, just wondering if one of you could tell me when she's done with the bath?" he gestures to himself. The redhead wrinkles her nose. The purple haired one looks away from him, blinkingly widely as if to say that she doesn't know what he's said. The brunette looks at her two friends, then him and then nods.

"I can," she says. "I tell you when she is done."

"Ah, right. Um, thank you…?"

The brunette smiles beatifically up at him. "Elvire du Cerf."

"Elfire du Cerf," he pronounces. She tilts her head and makes the Fièrien 'v' sound at him. "El…vire du Cerf."

She nods at him enthusiastically. "Good!"

"Right," he says for the second time. He turns and walks away back to his room.

* * *

The hour with Myron informing her on Reiman fashion was one of the longest hours of her life until Myron ran and brought Yaqut to help construct an outfit.

"No, Myron, that is going to clash with her hair. You can't put sky-blue and periwinkle together!"

"Sky-blue is _in_!" Myron shouts back. "It's _in_!"

" _Just because it's in doesn't mean it's fresh_!" Yaqut responds. He turns to Estelle. "Please tell me you'll wear the yellow one."

Estelle eyes it. "I guess. Maybe with this piece of fabric?" she says, pointing to a green stola. Yaqut beams at her and it crinkles his eyes.

"Perfect! She has a much better sense for color coordination than you do, Myron," Yaqut says. Myron yells viciously and slams her sandaled foot on top of Yaqut's bare one with enough force that it would have broken Estelle had she been in the way. Estelle stares at the two with wide eyes and Yaqut whines and hops around. "Fuck you, Myron!"

Myron sticks out her tongue and makes a rude gesture. She turns to Estelle. "Alright, go ahead and change."

"In front of you both?" Estelle asks, slightly shocked. She knows the Reimans are different when it comes to nudity. Being from a cold climate, wearing lots of clothes is the norm. It makes the casual nakedness of Reim far more scandalous than they perceive it to be. Myron glares at Yaqut until he turns to face the wall and cover his eyes, his foot seemingly forgotten. Estelle takes the long toga and puts it on in the way she knows how. She throws the stola on her shoulders as Myron had directed earlier. After the rustling of fabric was over, Yaqut turns around and smiles at her.

"You look great. So glad I was here to stop a fashion _don't_ from happening at your first official event. Honestly, what was Muu thinking sending Myron to—"

"Get fucked," Myron screeches, shoving Yaqut out the door. She huffs as she turns around to face Estelle, who can barely retain her laughter. She blushes. "Not you, _too_!"

"I won't say anything," Estelle giggles. She stops herself so that Myron doesn't get too embarrassed and returns to the situation at hand. "Anyway, should I go get Muu, or…?"

"I'll tell him you're ready," she says and exits the room with a flourish. Myron and Yvette are complete opposites, but Estelle can't help but find herself growing fond of the girl. She's passionate and fiery and awkward in that way all fourteen-year-olds are. She sighs and tugs the stola closer to her figure and sits down at her desk. She glances at the sloppily torn papyrus and the inkwell and quill. She shouldn't write so soon. She doesn't want them to worry about her.

There's a knock at her door and she turns to it with speed that nearly breaks her neck. Nerves ablaze within her she stumbles to the door and opens it up. Muu is standing outside, his expression neutral but hedging toward the side of awkward. She stands up straight and tugs the stola around her more. He looks down at her, takes in her appearance, and averts his eyes.

"You look nice."

"Thank you," she says. She looks him over as well, the finely draped toga made of silk. "You look handsome, too."

He scratches his cheek. "Thank you. Are you ready to go?"

She nods, feeling awkward and tension so thick she feels like she has to wade through it like mud. He turns away and walks towards an open roofed carriage that will take them to the palace for the dinner. She has never seen a carriage without a roof before, though it must be due to the arid climate. In Fièrie, there's too much rain and snow to travel without some type of shelter.

"Ah, wait," she says, still standing in the shadow of the atrium's entrance. He stops and looks back at her. She flushes. "I should bring a guard with me."

He tilts his head. "I'm more than capable of protecting you."

"I know," she says quickly, not wanting to offend him and start the evening off wrong. "It's just for my own sense of comfort. If you're distracted… I don't want to use my magic."

The threat of Life-Stealer seems to do the trick. He nods once. "Sure, go ahead. The cisium can fit one other person."

She gives him what she hopes is a grateful smile. "Thank you, Muu. For understanding."

She quickly walks down the column lined hall to the Amaury and Père Deuil's door. She knocks on it and Amaury opens it. His face is cleanly shaven. "What is it?" he asks.

"Could you accompany me and Muu to the dinner? Geneviève and Elvire are having a night in."

"Gotcha," Amaury says. "Let me grab my things." He closes the door and emerges less than a minute later, dressed in a down-played version of traditional Fièrien armor combined with the skirts and lightness of Reim's clothing. He has his sword in a scabbard on his side. The two Fièriens walk from the atrium to see Muu who's standing outside waiting for them next to the cisium which is tethered to two geldings. He looks up and opens the door for her and she steps inside after Amaury. He steps in as well and takes the reins. It's a tight fight with the two of them being large and muscular.

"Just because my family owns slaves doesn't mean I want to use them either," Muu says. "Normally, a slave would drive the cisium around. I tend to just drive myself, though." _Then why have them?_ She wonders. The Alexius family surely has enough social power to set some example of emancipation. She sits back and holds down the ends of her stola in her lap to keep it settled as they ride through town in the Reiman carriage. The ride is bumpy and loud, but that's fine. The sky is settling into the shadows of dusk and the onslaught of night. The wind sweeps her hair out behind her and keeps her bangs flying away from and across her face. She tries to tuck them behind her ears but moving loosens the stola and she's afraid of losing it. She looks forward, trying to memorize the roads he takes on a clearly practiced route to the palace.

They reach the palace gates and enter, Muu being well-known, without struggle (though there are tense faces regarding Amaury's battle tattoos and baldness). A slave of the palace takes control of the cisium once the three exit it and Muu leads them inside to the reception hall where they are then guided to a large dining area fashioned with different couches and tables. She follows Muu to the set where the high priestess and Emperor are seated. It seems as if his son didn't deign to come. The two already seated stare behind her at Amaury. She straightens her back and tilts her head down at them.

"Is there a problem?" she asks, making sure to keep her Common clear and distinct. Already she can feel the gazes of different officials boring into her back, weighing down on her.

"Slaves do not dine at the same table as their masters," the Emperor says slowly, as if she wouldn't understand.

"Amaury is not a slave," she says. She holds her from saying anything too cutting. _Don't be like Lucien, be diplomatic,_ she thinks. "He is a decorated and respectable warrior."

The side of the Emperor's lips curl at the tattoos covering his scalp, neck, shoulders, and arms. "He is indeed decorated."

"No more so than the men around us," she says and then tilts her head. "Although, I do have to say that our warriors do not grow complacent and fat. Maybe that's why you could never win the war."

Muu's head snaps towards her, aghast, while the Emperor splutters into his wine and Scheherazade coughs into her hand, seeming to be laughing. Muu puts a hand on her shoulder and squeezes it.

"I'm sure she meant no offense, Your Excellency," he casts her a wary look, as if regretting ever asking her to join him. Estelle realizes she should not have said what she said, but she couldn't help herself. The weight of the pressure of talking to these people, being watched apprehensively by these people, being an exotic prize to these people was too much to bear.

She schools her features into an embarrassed smile. "I'm so sorry. In my culture, comments like this are perfectly respectable. It's seen as good humor."

Slightly red, but magnanimous, the Emperor sighs. "In Reim we do not speak that way. If you hadn't the position you did, you could be executed for such language."

She widens her eyes to seem innocent. "I see. I hadn't realized," she steps closer to Muu. "I've only really been able to talk to Muu and his friends, so I don't have much experience with Reiman culture and niceties," she bows her head, though it pains her to bow to a monarch. "If you would please forgive me."

Seeming to assume that an inferior being was succeeding to his superiority, the Emperor smiles at her. "All is forgiven. I hope your lesson is learned."

She keeps her smile from turning wan. "It is."

"Your man can sit on the floor at your feet, if you don't want him dallying with the slaves. He wasn't accounted for in the seating arrangements, so there's no room for him," Scheherazade says quietly. Muu's attention is automatically on her and he sits down closest to her on the couch he and Estelle must share. Estelle sits next to him and shares a look with Amaury. The conversations begin around her about new plans and formations and attacks. She keeps an ear out for information about the legions on the border of Fièrie but hears no mention of her country other than relief they no longer have to fight in the Gorge. She watches as a slave sets food down at the table they're surrounding and picks at the olives and grapes. She takes a small plate and fixes it for Amaury. She hands it to him and he takes it gratefully.

She looks around for reproach but no one glances towards them. Apparently, they are no longer an interest. _That's fine,_ she thinks, _they need to get used to us for there to be peace._ She eats a bit herself, praying to her gods to thank them for the bountiful harvests and to apologize for not completing the official burning sacrifice of meat. There has been no meat provided, yet. She knows that she can't complete the rituals here, in front of all these people, who would smell the burning flesh and stare at her like she is some kind of dumb animal.

The plates are soon replenished with breads and dates and some poultry. She sets a plate aside for Amaury. She doesn't really know why the two of them stay mostly silent, if not to keep from drawing attention to themselves by speaking in the sloping and beautiful tongue of Fièrien amongst a room filled to the brim with Common. Amaury looks up at her.

" _Thank you_ ," he says in Fièrien.

" _It is nothing_ ," she responds in kind. The two eat in silence. She tunes back into the conversation.

"—the innovations of our scientists are bringing a new age of warfare," Scheherazade is saying. "They're contributions _combined_ with the magic we have at our disposal will keep Reim at the forefront of the war. We could even take back Parthevia if we wanted, given a few years to perfect our methods."

"Most definitely," Muu says in agreement with an adoring look cast to Scheherazade. "I can't speak for my uncle, but I will say that the science division at least has the support of the heir to the Alexius family."

Estelle watches the conversation, trying to pick up context clues. Retaking Parthevia through magic and science? Who's to say that Reim won't continue with their greed and declare war on Fièrie again? "Is your plan to declare war on Parthevia and try to conquer them again?"

Muu glances down at her. "They barely managed to defend themselves last time. With the power of Lady Scheherazade's magicians and scientists, we can become unstoppable."

"I want to plan movement into Kou's territory, once we figure out how to integrate our divisions," the Emperor comments casually. "Kou keeps moving west, so we need to forge ahead to the east."

"It would be worse to over extend your resources with quickly claimed territory," Estelle says, deciding that she should be a part of the conversation. She is the daughter of the ruler of Fièrie and she has fought and led a revolution. Muu glances down at her, but she's overtly ignored by both the Emperor and Scheherazade. She furrows her eyebrow and stabs into a piece of chicken, chewing on it. There's a slight lull.

"The Kou Empire makes sure to assimilate their territories. The more separate regions of Reim are mostly left alone which makes the control weak. If you continue doing that, you won't be able to enforce your laws and customs over the native ones."

The Emperor talks over her to continue to plan the unification of the divisions, as well as macho posture at large about how they will surely defeat Kou. Estelle sighs. She knows that no matter how long she waits, they won't listen to her. She's not only a foreigner, but she's from a culture seen as inferior. Amaury leans against her leg and stretches out his. Muu keeps his eyes locked on Scheherazade when Estelle is not trying to talk. Even when she's talking he keeps his attention elsewhere. She sits back on the couch sipping on wine. As her fiancée, he should be helping her be heard, not facilitating her silence.

She zones out of the conversation and finishes her wine. Muu has leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees, towards the Emperor and Scheherazade. His back is broad and blocks her view and her way into the conversation. There's a shake of bitterness and light fury that's been building in her since the engagement, since arriving and being ignored, since the fight earlier and his denial of her irritation with what her life will become. She didn't want to go because she knew this would happen. She's tired of waiting to be allowed to do things. She leans down to Amaury.

" _We're leaving_ ," she tells him. In Common, she says. "I don't feel well."

Muu spares her a look to show he heard before going back to his conversation. She can feel her mouth pinch as she stands. Amaury stands next to her and the two walk out of the dining room and out of the palace. The relief of fresh air and being able to speak in her native language cause a rush of tension to be released from her shoulders. She feels frustrated tears well up in her eyes. She doesn't want this to be her life.

"Should we take the carriage to the Alexius compound?" Amaury asks. She shakes her head.

"We'll leave it for Muu. We can walk back. I think I remember the way."

"I was paying attention, too," Amaury assures her. The two leave, walking out of the gates. He keeps his hand on his scabbard, ready to draw his blade just in case while Estelle pulls off her stola, folding it and holding it in her arms. Without the rush of wind from the carriage ride, the humidity of Reim's capital city settles onto her skin like a blanket. They leave the palace grounds and begin the walk back to the compound.

* * *

Pliant with wine and Scheherazade's presence, Muu leans back on his hand and realizes the emptiness of the couch next to him. He looks over and then around the room. _Where did she go?_ He sets down his cup. He can't ask his tablemates for fear of looking like an uncaring man. He can't embarrass himself in front of Scheherazade.

"Your fiancée's been gone for a while," she comments, as always reading his mind somehow. He flushes.

"She said she wasn't feeling well."

"Must be the richness of the food," says the Emperor, sucking on cheese.

"Should you go check for her?" Scheherazade says.

"I was actually just thinking of excusing myself. She could have been turned around in the palace," he scratches his check. "I'll tell my uncle about the proposals and then relay his decisions to you."

"Thank you, Muu," Scheherazade says beatifically, with her soft voice and warm green eyes. Muu feels himself flood with a rush of affection and devotion for her, nearing reverence. She smiles, small and dainty, at him. "Give the girl a chance. I think being married could be good for you."

Instantly, it's as if she's thrown a pail of ice-cold water all over him and the warmness fades into the void. "It's no problem, Lady Scheherazade. And we'll see how Estelle and I get along in the future." He stands, and bows to the Emperor, taking a new, and then to the magi. He stands and exits the room. He stops a slave. "Have you seen the girl I brought with me? She's foreign."

The slave shakes his head. He keeps his eyes down at the ground, focused on Muu's shoes as slaves are trained to do. Muu leaves him and then goes to the stables. His cisium is still there. _She must still be here, then._ He goes back into the palace and entreats a guard to look for his fiancée, making sure to tell him that he only wants to make sure she's feeling better, where ever she's resting. The man comes back half an hour later with no news. Frustration mounting, he walks to the gate.

"Has a foreigner come through here? Um, two foreigners. One's a man who's bald with tattoos all over him."

The guard nods. "They walked by a few hours ago."

 _So, she did leave,_ Muu thinks sourly. _How immature, to just leave without saying anything_. He goes back to the stable, feeling annoyed and slighted, gets inside of his cisium, snaps the reins, and is off into the night, heading back toward his home. He makes sure to keep an eye out for her as he drives, but she and her guard are nowhere to be seen. He drives through a haze of mounting anger and worry, both split into equal parts. She could have been hurt out there with only Amaury as protection _and_ she's succeeded in making him look like a fool. He tries to remember Myron's words from earlier, as well as Estelle's but it's difficult. He doesn't understand her and he doesn't want to, likewise, he knows that she doesn't want to understand him. He can't just bend to her will because she feels sad. They have to grow up and deal with it.

He exits his cisium and a slave takes it away. He enters the atrium of the main house and walks to her door. He knocks. There is no answer. He knocks again. Taking in a deep breath, he moves to the door of her servants' room. He knocks on the first door next to hers and there's shuffling before it's opened by the redhead.

"Where is Estelle?" he asks. "She's not in her room."

"She is with you?" the redhead says in confusion. He shakes his head.

"She and... um. She came back early. I was going to check to see if she was feeling better."

The redhead raises an eyebrow but shakes her head. She breathes in. "I do not know where she or Amaury are. They have not seen us, er, I have not seen them."

"Right. Thank you…"

"Cerise," Cerise says. She tilts her head. "To help you remember, my name is _cherry_ in your language."

He instantly connects cherry to her red hair. "I see. Cerise. Sorry, I'll try to remember."

Cerise doesn't respond and closes the door in his face. He rubs his brow. The fact that her closest confidants haven't seen her makes him overtly worried. Maybe something happened to her on the way back. It's not as if Reimans are very friendly towards Fièriens, and despite Estelle's foreign looks, Amaury is a walking, unapologetic target. He paces the atrium. Should he send out his guys to look for them? That could be dangerous to them. He opens and closes his fists as he paces. _Deep breaths_ , he thinks. He walks outside and sees their small gathering of saplings. Estelle and Amaury aren't there, so he turns to walk towards the Fanalis Corps' housing when he sees two figures talking and walking up to the main house from the stables.

The moonlight glints off of Amaury's bald head and Muu rushes forward towards them. Estelle sees him first and stops walking. Amaury follows her example. His observation that they're both fine kills the worry in his chest and anger takes over. She made him look like a fool by what? Leaving with her guard and going alone to the stables with him? Infidelity cannot be allowed or even contemplated.

"Muu," she says, her face and voice cold and white under the moonlight. He crosses his arm and frowns down at her.

"Could we have some privacy?" He directs it to Amaury. Amaury frowns at him and then at Estelle. She waves him away with a hand. He hesitates but heads back to the house on his own. The two of them stare at each other in silence. He doesn't know what to say now that he's in front of her.

"Well? I thought you had something to say to me," she says and it's the tone that does it.

" _What was that_?" he hisses out through his teeth. "I ask you to go with me to a dinner because I felt guilty about how sad you were being and then you get up and walk out and leave without telling me?"

"I told you I didn't feel well," she sniffs, unapologetic, "and besides, it's not as if my presence had any value there."

"Your presence was a symbol of the peace between Reim and Fièrie. Maybe you haven't realized, but everything we do and everywhere we go together _means something_ because of the reason for our marriage," he pauses and reels himself back in. He doesn't want to yell at her. "I understand everything you were saying earlier about being," he winces, "a broodmare. But that's not the only purpose behind this marriage. There's the benefit that _your_ country is getting. A treaty and an end to the northern war."

Her face twists. "A treaty is nothing but paper. Promises are nothing but words."

"What does that mean?" Muu takes a deep breath. _What is her damage?_

She chews on her bottom lip. "All night the Emperor was talking about conquering Parthevia and going to war with Kou. You have a treaty with both of them. Who's to say that won't happen again, but with Fièrie?"

Clouds part inside of his head, shining light on a section of her reasoning. He understands. She left because she was afraid and looked down upon. He thinks back to her behavior towards the Emperor after her social folly. The way she supplicated to him and played on his prejudices against her people to smooth it over. She is sly and looks ahead to the future, but she's also emotional and sensitive. "I didn't realize you would make that connection. I should have been more cognizant of how you were feeling."

She bites her lip again, as if keeping herself from saying something before she averts her eyes. She looks back up at him. "I shouldn't have left without telling you where I was going. It was immature of me. I could have waited on the grounds for you to be finished with dinner. I just didn't want to cause a scene or appear weak in front of the Priestess and the Emperor."

"Thank you for the apology," he says. It feels like a breakthrough. Finally, they've proven they can talk to each other without trailing off into awkward silence. "I'm sorry as well."

"Thank you, too," she says. She crosses her arms across her chest. "While we're speaking of it… The Priestess… you were very… attentive to her."

The words are a slap to his face. Is he that obvious? "There is nothing between me and Scheherazade."

"That may be so," she starts, "but that doesn't mean you don't want there to be. When you told me I wasn't considering your feelings when I accepted the marriage, is this what you were talking about? Your love for her."

"I don't love her," he lies. "I respect her and she's always fought for me in court despite my heritage."

"You were treated badly because you're a fanalis?" she asks. He nods.

"It was very hard for me to gain respect amongst my peers and the officials." He doesn't really want to talk about it. She seems to understand.

"I see. Even if you are in love with her, I wouldn't be mad at you," he's reminded of how his mind automatically jumped to adultery between her and Amaury. "We don't like each other."

He blinks down at her. Her reasoning is still mostly enigmatic to him, despite his revelations. "We just need to learn how."

They are quiet for a few seconds. She runs a hand through her hair. "It's late and I want to bathe. Let's go back inside." He's disappointed by her lack of response. He nods.

"Alright."

The two walk side by side to their house and go their separate ways without anymore words shared between them.

* * *

-Iolente is Estelle's mom and Grégoire is her father. He took a different name to hide from Vercingetorix before becoming king of Fièrie, but those details will be further explicated later on!

-Both Muu and Estelle have their reasons for disliking each other. Getting married is a big deal! They're both trying to resolve some things within themselves.

 _-Ifrit_ are a type of malevolent djinn that are associated with violent murders and the underworld. They're death spirits. They are in the Arabian Nights. Anytime there's an evil djinn that uses magic, it's an ifrit, but in translation they're just labelled as a djinni because they're kind of a subcategory of djinn.

-Again, this is an AU. I'm having fun by playing with the source material for Magi, as well as Magi canon. While I'm writing it, I'm thinking: _What if there were other languages outside of the Common and Torran? What if there were different types of djinn? How would all of these things fit together?_ And thus, I've created this.

-TLDR;; I'm trying to warn you not to go in expecting a photocopy of canon. I'm not changing as much as I'm adding and extrapolating. In general, the things that are already in canon will stay. This story is happening about 5 years before the beginning of Magi.

Thank you so much for your love and support! I would appreciate any comments you'd like to leave! Commenting inspires me to write!


End file.
